Quicksand
The vicious quicksand in the deserts of Sahara..
Less vicious they are than men..
For they pull you into darkness just once..
But the men, who have a way like quicksand..
To pull you closer… for them just once won’t do
They pull you in deep and let you fight your way out
Breathe!
Just to pull you back in once more..
The sheer joy they see for a woman fall .. again and again
In her naivety to want love ..Love and Quicksand
Are all but one..
Men.. they are more..
If our love was a butterfly...
It would live a few moments and fearlessly die..
If our love was a stubborn mountain..
It would be for eternity, resiliently waiting through the uncertain..
Alas, our love lives beyond the moment and less than eternity..
Someone did ask me…(Actually nobody did...)
I guess that is poetic license.. poetic motive
But yes.. So somebody did ask me?
Why I write poetry…? What higher motive?
Isn't it a rather useless pursuit.. if you ask me?
Is it just an outlet of escape for .. The rational 'Me'!
The emotional 'Me’! The lover 'Me'.! The lost ‘Me’!
Different outcomes! Different motives!
But the real answer that stood out for me..
Was one where I truly have no real reason..no motive…
Poetry stays beautiful..without manmade logic or motive.
It is not for a purpose that the words flow from me..
To have in life…an answer not intentional in motive..
Something that flows and ebbs alongside my soul and me..
With purpose… there is an end..as a final motive
Without real purpose, it remains endless beyond time and me..
Beautiful without reason.. somewhat like you and me..
Companions for life.. without purpose, without motive..
Me and my poetry… Me and you..